


From This Night Not a Whisper

by Still_and_Clear



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_and_Clear/pseuds/Still_and_Clear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This takes place in the same time frame as episodes 10/11/12.  Jim has been assigned to Arkham, Oswald is working for Maroni. I've sort of smushed stuff together</p><p>I was struck by how fantastically reckless they both were at this point, and the level of risk they seemed to be taking, and wanted to look at this similarity.  I also got frustrated because they were both in the precinct at the same time but didn't talk to each other.  So, I thought - what if they bumped into each other just as Oswald was released?</p><p>Note for later: Spartans and Sybarites.  Terms you might be familiar with if you studied classics. Spartans were known for their strict, austere discipline - to the extent that the word is now an adjective to describe someone who is disciplined, frugal, and who can live without comfort and luxuries.  Sybarites are the opposite, and the word is an adjective for someone who loves comfort, pleasure and luxury.</p><p>Happy to chat in the comments, and all feedback gratefully received :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	From This Night Not a Whisper

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the same time frame as episodes 10/11/12. Jim has been assigned to Arkham, Oswald is working for Maroni. I've sort of smushed stuff together
> 
> I was struck by how fantastically reckless they both were at this point, and the level of risk they seemed to be taking, and wanted to look at this similarity. I also got frustrated because they were both in the precinct at the same time but didn't talk to each other. So, I thought - what if they bumped into each other just as Oswald was released?
> 
> Note for later: Spartans and Sybarites. Terms you might be familiar with if you studied classics. Spartans were known for their strict, austere discipline - to the extent that the word is now an adjective to describe someone who is disciplined, frugal, and who can live without comfort and luxuries. Sybarites are the opposite, and the word is an adjective for someone who loves comfort, pleasure and luxury.
> 
> Happy to chat in the comments, and all feedback gratefully received :)

Oswald was bruised, exhausted, hungry and – worst of all – dishevelled. He had spent hours in that _wretched_ cell, practising his best grovelling, waiting for an increasingly tardy Don Maroni to arrive. However, while the Don had deigned to show up, and _grudgingly_ forgive him his sins – and unsubtly remind him of his place as a _servant_ – his charity had not extended to offering him a ride back to the restaurant, or even near his home. Oswald was to be taught a lesson in humility, and to learn ‘how good he had it’ in his current position in Maroni’s organisation. 

All of which was utterly _galling_. Even more so when the money he had been carrying had mysteriously disappeared - according to the desk sergeant processing his release, that is. Between casual assault and pocketing valuables, Gotham’s finest were good with their hands. Oswald had given the man a glare that should have terrified him, if he had any sense, and let out an exasperated sigh at the prospect of a long, painful walk home – when he heard a voice behind him that somehow dragged a smile out of him, despite his sorry day.

“Cobblepot. What are you doing here?”

Oswald turned, beaming. “Jim! My friend! I’m so glad to see you. You’ve no idea how good it is to see a man of true integrity here.”

Jim frowned. “Sorry?”

“I was arrested while carrying out some….. errands…. for Don Maroni” Oswald could see disapproval gathering on Jim’s face and fumbled to dispel it, “arrest, of course, being a _completely_ understandable, if….. regrettable risk in these kinds of errands. However, I must say that the subsequent assault and theft at the hands of your fellow officers was unacceptable, if _dismally_ predictable.”

Jim’s frown deepened at this, his mouth tightening as he glanced at Oswald’s black eye. “Who arrested you? Did they give you their names?”

Oswald shrugged dismissively. “Some uniformed buffoons. I….” His voice trailed off as he realised that Jim, due to his recent demotion, stood before him in a uniform. He felt himself blush hotly from his neck up and scrambled to rectify his error. “Oh! Not that there’s anything wrong with uniformed officers…that is….there is value in _every_ rank….besides, you look very handsome in your…………” He trailed to a stammering halt and smiled feebly at Jim. Now Jim was frowning _and_ red-faced. 

Jim cleared his throat. “Look, I’ll talk to the desk sergeant – see if I can get your possessions back. What was it you had on you?

Oswald told him that it was a wallet and some cash, and watched him march off straight-backed and purposeful to the admit desk. There was some animated gesturing and raised voices, and then Jim shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck in frustration, and walked back towards him.

“Sorry. Asylum security guards don’t hold much sway.” He looked sheepish.

Oswald smiled. “I appreciate that you tried”

“Didn’t Maroni show up here to get you released, take you back with him?”

“He showed up to get me released, but he was…displeased with me. He left me to make my own way home to teach me a lesson.” Oswald hoped that Jim’s questions might be honest concern for him, as opposed to general curiosity. James took his duty to protect _very_ seriously. Oswald felt his heart give a little flutter at this, and then wondered if he could somehow bend this admirable quality to his advantage. He widened his eyes a little. 

“You see, my mother isn’t exactly aware of _every_ detail of my work, and if I show up late at night, bruised _and_ in this” – he gestured to himself – “unfortunate state, then she would be very alarmed. I don’t like to worry her. And the walk from here……” He shifted his weight slightly, just in case Jim had somehow forgotten his limp, and looked up at him through his lashes.

Jim tilted his head and viewed Oswald through narrowed eyes, considering. He ran his tongue over his teeth and sighed.

“Come with me. You can clean yourself up and I’ll drive you home early in the morning. It’s already past midnight now.”

***

When they got to the apartment in the fancy end of town, Jim stepped inside first and flicked on the lights. Oswald blinked, eyes adjusting. He looked round. He had been impressed by Jim’s home before, and it was still very stylish, but the pizza boxes and the random crockery scattered about looked out of place - a bachelor’s makeshift apartment bleeding into a penthouse.

Jim glanced over his shoulder at him, and noticed his confusion. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Barbara left” he said shortly. His tone did not invite further questions.

“I’m sorry”, said Oswald. He held his tongue, suspecting that this was a sore topic. Jim walked towards the kitchen. 

“Can I help with anything?” Oswald asked quickly, keen that Jim not see him as a nuisance.

“You can give me your shirt. We should be able to wash and dry that before you head back. Hang the rest up in the bathroom while you shower, the steam’ll help make it look less like you spent the night in a jail cell. Did they feed you yesterday?”

Oswald’s eyebrows shot up. He had been expecting a cup of coffee at the most – but a shower and something to eat? 

“No” he said “No food. Gabe was _most_ unhappy”

“Yeah – well, there’s not much here. It’s grilled cheese or cereal. Nothing fancy. A stiff drink, too. I’m guessing you need one, and I sure as hell do. Just one, though.” This last was accompanied by a stern tilt of the head.

Oswald nodded enthusiastically. 

“Not much I can do about that eye” said James

“I’ve had worse” said Oswald, airily. 

“I know” said Jim, his tone disapproving. He turned away to begin preparing the meal, and Oswald headed for the shower. 

**

Oswald felt significantly better after a scalding hot shower. He had no idea why a night in the cells had a very specific smell, but it most certainly did. He teased his wet hair into its usual style as well as he could without his usual pomade, and walked back towards the kitchen, where Jim was setting two plates of grilled cheese on the table. At the sound of the bathroom door closing, Jim looked up from the plates in his hand. His eyes flickered over Oswald. 

“There’s a t-shirt there for you until your shirt’s dry”. He nodded to one of the chairs, which had a white t-shirt folded neatly over its back.

Oswald thanked him self-consciously, and quickly pulled the t-shirt over his head. He preferred the gravitas and bulk the layers of formalwear lent him, but at least a t-shirt would conceal his skinny frame. His eyes darted to Jim, hoping that he had not been looking, only to find that he had been. Jim glanced away quickly. Probably unimpressed, Oswald thought unhappily. He slid into the chair opposite him. 

There were a few minutes of silence as they both practically inhaled the food in front of them. Oswald’s hunger was down to the day he’d had. He wondered when Jim had last eaten a meal that wasn’t junk food or grilled cheese, and whether it was due to his demotion or breakup. As his friend, he felt it appropriate that he should offer a shoulder to cry on. He decided to prod, gently.

 _“So.”_ Oswald smiled politely. “How have you found your new post? I do think it’s a _travesty,_ what they did to you. An inexcusable waste of your talents”

Jim shrugged.

“It could be worse. They didn’t take my badge. And the people there, well – they’re sick, ill. Not their fault they’ve been given that hovel as a hospital. It’s not fit for purpose”

Oswald leaned forward. “They’re very fortunate to have you – even though it’s only due to the malice of your superiors. Can you imagine those unfortunate souls at the mercies of your less scrupulous colleagues?”

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat and avoided eye contact – unwilling to fully acknowledge GCPD’s failings in front of him, but too honest to deny they existed. 

“You expect me to believe that _you_ genuinely care?”

This was far too clumsy an attempt to deflect guilt to actually sting. Oswald felt bad for Jim. He was sure he would have more finesse if he weren’t sleep deprived from night shifts, and malnourished on his bachelor diet. Not that he would let him off the hook, though. He drew himself up in his chair.

“As a matter of fact I do. My own dear mother has had spells of mental…fragility. Cruel enough to be sick in your mind, but to receive the kind of treatment available for the less fortunate….”

Jim looked abashed. “Sorry. I didn’t know”

Oswald smiled kindly to assuage his guilt, not really wanting to make him feel bad.

“How were you to know, silly?” 

It was risky, very risky, sharing so much intimate information – and usually something Oswald meticulously avoided, opting for a well-chosen lie instead. But it was different with James. Oswald wanted greatly that Jim should know him. _See_ him. Not some umbrella boy, not some snitch in the trunk of Bullock’s car, not Maroni’s skivvy – all of whom could be easily labelled and dismissed – but _him._ _Oswald._

Nevertheless, he changed the subject to spare Jim’s blushes.

“Do you foresee a change in your fortunes in the near future? A return to your old job?”

Jim seemed relieved enough at the change of topic that he answered without his usual reserve. Maybe the whiskey was helping, too. He let out an amused snort. “I told the mayor to kiss my ass, and dared the commissioner to fire me.” He raised his glass, as if toasting himself.

Oswald’s eyes widened. 

“James! How….” He searched for a suitable word. Reckless? Suicidal? _‘Thrilling’_ his brain offered, making him shiver. He swallowed. “Bold, of you.”

 _“Bold.”_ Jim rolled his eyes. “That’s one word for it. I don’t regret it, though - can’t stomach them, either of them. I won’t dance to their tune.” He took another drink.

Oswald could feel a giddy little smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He could sympathise with Jim’s rejection of the powers that be and their endless hypocrisy. Had he not done the same thing? Fish’s face popped into his head, contorted, screaming at him about loyalty and betrayal while she beat him – when all the time she had been plotting to betray her own Don.

Jim’s eyes slid towards him. 

“And how exactly did you piss off your boss today?”

Oswald looked sulky. “I demonstrated some initiative on a business matter and….increased prices. Don Maroni was unappreciative of my ingenuity”.

Jim looked incredulous. “The last time I saw you both, Maroni threatened to send your head to Falcone as a gift. Don’t you think that you should at least try to keep your nose clean with this guy?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “Didn’t you think of what he might do to you?”

Oswald smiled slyly, and gave him his own words back.

“Didn’t you think of what the Mayor might do to you? What the commissioner might do?” 

He watched keenly as realisation started to dawn on Jim’s face. Something in common with a gangster. Something in common with _him_. Jim downed the remainder of his drink fast, and stared into the empty glass.

Oswald leaned forward. His tone was insinuating, conspiratorial, 

“The risk makes it even sweeter, doesn’t it?”

Jim’s eyes snapped up from his glass and latched onto his. Oswald welcomed the gaze avidly. Even when they were furious, yelling at each other – that _look,_ that _look_ was addictive, heady. The moment lengthened, and their stare grew fiercer, volatile, as it always seemed to do. Oswald prided himself on his quick mind, furnishing him with a million possibilities for every situation, but all he was aware of now was an almost painful level of _want._ His hands flexed hard against the table top, seeking contact, betraying him. This sound seemed to jolt Jim back to himself. His eyes widened, and he looked down quickly at the table, before rising wordlessly to clear the dishes. Oswald stood too, leaning on the table to help himself up. He exhaled shakily.

“Please, let me – you’ve been so kind” His voice sounded a little rough to his own ears.

Jim’s eyes darted quickly to where his hand was leaning heavily on the table. 

“It’s fine. I got it”

Oswald felt his usual flash of irritation at being deemed incapable, followed almost immediately by a little glow at Jim’s consideration on his behalf. 

Turning away, he wandered out of the kitchen, and admired the view from the living room window.

“All of Gotham, spread out before you”

His eyes trailed lovingly over the city. The dizzying opportunities it presented him – he was forever grateful to it.

“Not for long” said Jim. “I’ll need to relocate soon. The apartment isn’t mine.”

“Won’t you miss it?” asked Oswald, eyes still on the view. He couldn’t imagine having to leave here – so elegant, elevated over the whole city.

“Army through and through. If I’ve got a place to sleep, I’m fine. A fridge and a shower are extras”

Oswald pulled a face. “Spartan – but that suits you, I think. I like a _bath._ And a comfortable bed”

“Sybarite.”

Oswald’s head whipped round at that, a surprised smile on his face. Jim was watching him, face as relaxed as he had ever seen it, and he would _swear_ there was a smile behind his eyes. Most of the people Oswald knew were _smart,_ but not educated, and Oswald himself had painstakingly supplemented his mediocre schooling with old library books. To be able to talk, _really_ talk with someone……

Oswald stepped towards him, smiling warmly, desperately eager to continue this conversation. The whiskey seemed to have loosened Jim’s usual rigid professionalism.

Not loosened it enough, though, as Jim’s face grew serious again as he moved towards him. Oswald felt his own smile falter, and he came to a halt, looking dejectedly down at his shoes. He would have so liked to talk more with him like this.

Jim cleared his throat.

“It’s 4.30 now. I’m going to set my alarm clock for 6am. That’ll let us both catch a little sleep, and then I can drive you home.”

Oswald smiled weakly and nodded. It was much more than he had expected: the shower, the food, a nap – but Oswald was tormented by his desire for _more_ in everything he did, and now all he really wanted to do was sit in that quiet apartment and watch the city wake up, talking with Jim about everything he couldn’t talk about with anyone else. 

He walked resignedly to the sofa. 

“There’s a blanket on the back of the couch,” said Jim. “Just pull that over you”

Oswald grabbed the blanket, feeling the fabric soft and warm under his fingers.

“Blanket? This is a cashmere throw”

“It’s a big piece of fabric. It’s a blanket. It’s what I use it for, anyway”

Oswald tutted at him, smoothing the throw delicately over his legs. He was startled to see Jim approaching, dropping into the armchair closest to him.

“Why don’t you go to bed?”

“If I go to bed, I’ll crash. Here, I’ll nap”

“Don’t you want the couch?”

“This is fine.” Jim put his feet on the table, and rested his head back against the chair, eyes shut, hands folded over his stomach.

Oswald rested his head on the arm of the sofa and watched him, his eyes soft.

“Go to sleep” said Jim gruffly, without cracking an eyelid.

Oswald closed his eyes obediently, a silly smile slanting his mouth upwards. He lay perfectly still, faithfully cataloguing every detail: the warmth of the blanket, the heaviness of his limbs, and best, most wonderful of all – the sound of Jim’s slow, even breathing close by. Oswald kept many memories in meticulous detail: always slights, and indignities, and injuries – bitterness preserving them vividly, spurring him on every day in his work. _This,_ though, this was entirely new and sweet. He folded it away carefully, tenderly, to take comfort in it again on some grey day, when the world seemed drained of its wonder.

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, then thank-you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> The title is from a poem by Auden, 'Lullaby':
> 
> "Every farthing of the cost,  
> All the dreaded cards foretell,  
> Shall be paid, but from this night  
> Not a whisper, not a thought,  
> Not a kiss nor look be lost."
> 
> I usually like to have a sort of unifying theme - but it wasn't really possible here. It was more about exploiting that plot opportunity to get some interaction, and then the random stuff that resulted from that.
> 
> Poor Oswald is misinterpreting signals at points: Jim's not quite as uninterested as he thinks he is, although he's trying hard to deny it.
> 
> The last line is based on one from Joan Didion on keeping a diary:
> 
> "See enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some morning when the world seems drained of wonder, some day when I am only going through the motions of doing what I am supposed to do, on that bankrupt morning I will simply open my notebook and there it will all be."


End file.
